The Collected Poems of Maglor
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: An anthology of poems and songs written by Maglor, second son of Feanor, detailing his life from the light of Aman to the shores of Middle Earth. Compiled and edited by Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion. Poem 2: The Oath of Fëanáro.
1. Foreword

**The Collected Poems of Maglor**

 _Edited by Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion_

 **Foreword**

Set down in these pages are the collected poems of my paternal uncle Maglor, second son of Fëanor, known as Canafinwë Macalaurë in the language of the High West. In another age he was a renowned minstrel of the Noldor, one of the greatest singers and composers that Arda has ever known.

It is my understanding that Maglor left these poems with Lord Elrond at the end of the First Age, before disappearing from the histories of Middle Earth. The originals are kept in Lindon, and were written in Quenya without intention of being read. I have translated them to the best of my ability into a language more easily understood, but I fear that my skill with words is less than his, and I have done them little justice. Nevertheless, it is better to let them see the light of day than to gather dust in a corner of a library.

I have attempted to put them into a sort of order, though I know not if this is the order my uncle intended them to be. I will publish each poem as I finish translating them.

I wish you a good, though not a joyful, read.

Celebrimbor, known as Telperinquar, son of Curufin, last of the House of Fëanor, Prince of the Noldor and Lord of Eregion.  
 _SA 1215_


	2. Quendi

**Quendi – Those Who Speak With Voices**

The shining towers of Tirion  
Fill with laughter from below.  
The cackles of pure delight run  
Like molten silver, a gentle stream that  
Joins with others into a rush  
That neither wall nor fence can stop  
But tumbles on until the edges of the world.

For those of us with gift of voice  
Will use it to express that which cannot—  
Arrant joy like the light of the trees  
Forever captured  
Not in jewels but a smile,  
Not in fire but in laughter,  
Who can take this from us?

The light of Laurelin on our back,  
The hills of Valinor spread around  
For miles and miles there is only  
A playground for those with  
Little to ponder, nothing to regret.  
Innocence is ignorance but who can say  
That they prefer the grief?

And so was I, that spring morning,  
With brother tall and cousin strong  
Dancing like leaves tossed by the wind  
In an empty garden of Lorien.  
And the laughter that escaped our lips  
Was sweeter than the smoothest melody,  
More radiant than the brightest star.

But time does not wait for those  
Who have no care,  
Who labour under nothing,  
And do not know how easy it is  
To lose the remnants of their destiny  
And that garden, that spring morning,  
Is nothing now but a memory.


	3. The Oath of Fëanáro

**The Oath of Fëanáro** (1) **  
**

Darkness falls on Valinor  
A sickness dark and vile for all  
The Trees lie dead by poisoned trick  
The High King slain, his blood runs thick  
From gaping wound to cold stone floor

The doors of Formenos (2) thrown down  
The Dark Power snatches heirloom crowns  
The Silmarils of blinding light  
Forever lost in hate and spite  
By Moringotto (3) who fled the grounds.

Fëanáro, Spirit of Fire  
Fierce and fell, with tempered ire  
Blinded by grief and fey with pride  
Claims the kingship by birthright  
A shining hope in city dire.

Forth he sprang with sharpened words  
Through impassioned speech he spurred  
The valiant Noldor to desperate deeds  
Fury drives us, we take no heed  
Of the dark and dangerous paths unheard.

"Away!" he cries, with voice like iron  
And eyes that gleam with wrath of lions  
"There is naught now for us here,  
We must avenge, and let all fear  
The drums and wrath of Finwë's scion."

Then we, the faithful loyal sons  
Let naked blade be drawn, each one  
Thinking not of days ahead  
But drunk with grief for High King dead  
And lust for Silmarils to be won.

The sons stand with their mighty king  
And swear the Oath that's doomed to bring  
Pain and sorrow upon their names  
Driving them to ruin and shame  
A deed of horror for the bards to sing.

We lead our kin from city great  
Abandon the splendour of our state  
To fight for jewels of cherished light  
The hallowed Silmarils burning bright  
And thus carve into stone our fate.

Flaming torches light our way  
Towards the open land where rays  
Of sunlight fall and metal rings,  
Towards the bright new realm of kings  
Where blood is spilt in light of day.

* * *

I have endeavoured to provide some explanation for those who are not so familiar with the language of the High West as I. Since my uncle wrote these poems in Quenya, I feel disinclined to change their names, and will continue to use the originals.

(1) Fëanáro is the Quenyan name of my grandfather, more commonly known as Fëanor  
(2) Formenos is the stronghold of my grandfather and his sons when they were exiled from Tirion upon Túna. I too moved there with my father. The land was stark and proud and beautiful, much like my House.  
(3) Moringotto was the Quenyan name for Morgoth, the Dark Power of the World.

\- Celebrimbor


	4. The Helcaraxë

**The Helcaraxë**

I have never crossed the Grinding Ice.  
I have never heard the howling of the wind  
across bleak and desolate plains  
or felt the stinging numbness  
of the cold against bare skin  
or wept as I overlooked the  
everlasting frozen wasteland  
and my tears crystalised before they could  
slide from my cheek.

I have never seen the horror  
of deep cracks in the ice  
like firecrackers in the night  
tearing away the safety beneath your feet.  
I have never fallen into  
the dark and cold abyss  
waves lapping over my head  
and the screams of my kin lost  
to the echoes of time  
as I give in to the icy embrace  
and drift away.

I have never cursed the names of  
those traitors I once called kin  
who doomed us to this fate  
worse than death,  
who crept away like thieves in the night  
and set fire to priceless treasures  
and cared not for those left behind.  
'Needless baggage on the road,' they said,  
and laughed.  
I have never felt that deep knife of betrayal  
the pain like a blade of ice  
through the heart.

And for that, I am sorry.  
An apology means little to  
those who have lived through such grief  
but it is the best I can give.  
I am truly, truly  
sorry.


	5. Thangorodrim

**Thangorodrim**

Fate is a bitter enemy  
And cowardice a cruel friend  
My brothers' glares of enmity  
In my mind till the bitter end.

A thousand tears of sorrow  
A million cries and pleas  
Will not change that come the morrow  
Russandol (1) lies tortured, and bleeds.

The dark shadows of Thangorodrim  
Rise up to block the stars.  
He dwarfs us with his towers grim  
My brother is hopelessly far.

Do I dare to tempt destiny  
Accept the terms Morgoth states?  
Gamble the war and my legacy  
To save Maitimo (2) from his fate?

My uncle's army rises with the moon  
Their eyes alight with rage  
Swords drawn for vengeance soon  
A grudge against us to wage.

My younger brothers, craftier each  
Spread lies of poison amongst us  
The words coward and traitor in their speech  
Each word is a thousand dagger cuts.

How then can I abandon my station  
Throw aside the war for the sake  
Of one brother who must be forsaken  
With the whole rebellion at stake?

And bitterly I weep still in the night  
For my cowardice and selfish thoughts  
I dared not rescue Maitimo from his plight  
I dared not do anything at all.

* * *

(1) Russandol is the _epessë_ or nickname given to my grand-uncle Maedhros, meaning copper-top. He was called that only by the ones closest to him.  
(2) Maitimo is the Quenyan mother-name of Maedhros, meaning well-formed.


End file.
